


Wrong Address

by Wildrivver



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Other, Trans Enjolras, Trans Grantaire, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildrivver/pseuds/Wildrivver
Summary: Needing a new start Grantaire goes to stay with his friend Joly.***Grantaire meets Enjolras for the first time.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Wrong Address

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta reader [chasingconstellations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingconstellations/pseuds/chasingconstellations)

Grantaire shrugged his bag higher on his shoulder as he climbed the last flight of stairs. He reached the top with a relieved sigh. The lift being out of order had been the last in a long line of unfortunate events to have befallen him on his long journey, but he had finally reached his destination. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his friend’s sofa and sleep for a week.

Full of nervous excitement at seeing his friend for the first time in nearly a year he knocked on the door of flat 9. There was no reply, no sound of movement from inside.

He knocked again.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath and rested his head against the door with a soft thump. He hadn’t even considered what to do if no one was home. He tried to think what he should do, but his mind came up blank. His phone was dead, thanks to the broken power sockets on the coach, he didn’t have any change or know anyone’s number to be able to use a pay phone even if he could find one and there was no way he was lugging his bag back down all those stairs.

He let his bag fall to the floor and sank down to sit on it, his back against the door. He would just have to wait until someone returned.

He was unsure of how much time had passed, but his head had slipped to rest against the door frame and he was drifting in and out of sleep when he heard footsteps on the staircase. His hope began to grow until he saw a stranger round the corner. He glanced away, expecting the stranger to walk past, but instead their shoes came to rest in front of his own.

“Can I help you?” Grantaire asked, hoping this wasn’t going to end in confrontation. He didn’t have the energy for that right now.

“I live here,” the figure stated, matter-of-factly. “And I would like to open my door.”

Grantaire frowned in confusion. He was sure he had gotten the address right. “No,” he said, shaking his head in the hopes that things would become clearer. “My friend Joly lives here.”

The stranger’s face seemed to relax a little. “He lives next door,” he said apologetically. “He lives at 9B, this is 9A.” 

Grantaire stumbled to his feet with a moan of frustration, wondering if he had been sat on the landing all this time for no reason.

“Sorry for getting in your way,” he apologised, and moved to knock on the other door.

“They’re out,” the stranger said before Grantaire’s fist hit the wood.

“Oh,” he said, defeated.

There was an awkward silence as they both stood on the landing. Finally the stranger spoke again. “You’re welcome to come inside and wait for him.”

Grantaire wondered if he should accept the stranger’s offer. They didn’t look like much of a threat, but looks could be deceiving. “I’m Enjolras, my pronouns are he or they,”he said, extending his hand. 

Grantaire suddenly remembered Joly mentioning Enjolras before.

“Grantaire,” he said, taking his hand in a rather formal hand shake. “Um, he/him.” 

Enjolras nodded and went to unlock the door Grantaire had been leaving against until a few moments ago.

“So how do you know Joly?” Enjolras asked as he led the way into the flat.

“He’s an old friend from back home.”

“He didn’t mention you were visiting, was your train delayed?” 

Grantaire ignored the assumption that he could afford to catch the train.

“He, er, doesn’t know I’m here. It was a last minute decision.” 

Thankfully Enjolras didn’t ask him for any more details. Grantaire was getting the impression that Enjolras wasn’t one for small talk. There was silence again so he took a seat on the sofa to have something to do.

“Would you like a drink?” Enjolras asked.

“I would kill for a coffee.”

Grantaire let his eyes drift around the flat while Enjolras filled the kettle. They were in an open plan living space which included a kitchen nook in the corner. Two well worn sofas had been crammed into the room, along with an assortment of mismatched chairs. Three doors left the space, which Grantaire assumed led to the bathroom and two bedrooms.

“How many people live here?” He asked.

“Only two of us, myself and Combeferre,” they explained. “But we have meetings here sometimes.” 

Grantaire recalled Joly mentioning the meetings as well, that was how he had knew Enjolras; they were all members of some group. He hadn’t enquired too closely about it, but it was one of the reasons he had thought of Joly when he had packed up his bag the night before to leave. So he just nodded.

There was a mug with a logo for a local coffee shop in the centre of the coffee table, the Musain. Inside it was an assortment of miniature pride flags. He recognised some of them. Without thinking he picked up the trans flag and began playing with it, just to have something to do with his hands.

Enjolras brought over two mugs, set them down on the coffee table and sat on the other sofa. Grantaire jumped and quickly put the flag back on the coffee table. Reaching for the coffee mug he almost knocked it over before taking a gulp and burning his mouth. Why was he acting like such a klutz?

“I could text Joly, ask him to come home?” Enjolras offered. “We were at a party but I left early, not really my thing, but I’m not sure how long he’ll be out for.” 

Grantaire hesitated. He appreciated the offer but he was about to ask a huge favour from Joly and didn’t want to start by ruining his Saturday night. 

“Or you’re welcome to wait here,” they offered again.

Grantaire smiled back gratefully. "Thanks, you don’t have to do this, you don’t even know me.”

“Well I could hardly leave you sat outside, could I?”

“Most people would,” he admitted.

“Well I’m not most people, and it’s attitudes like that which are destroying our society. I’m going to make some toast. Would you like some?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said, remembering the overpriced sandwich he had eaten at a service station far too many hours ago. Enjolras made his way back to the kitchen, obviously more comfortable when he had something to do. Grantaire was starving. He also had a tightness in his chest from wearing his binder for too long, but that would have to wait. In the meantime he took a couple of slow steady breaths to try and fill his lungs while Enjolras wasn’t looking. “So how long have you known Joly?” he asked.

“About four or five years. I think I met him at the beginning of university. He was on the same course as my friend Combeferre.”

Grantaire’s eyes drifted to the bookcase. It contained a mix of fiction and nonfiction. Some science fiction paperbacks, natural history, but the majority of space was given over to queer books; theory, anthologies, comics. He stole another glance at his host while his back was turned. He was tall and slender, but wearing an oversized red sweatshirt which had a tendency to slip to one side leaving the curve of his neck and shoulder exposed in a way Grantaire was finding incredibly distracting whenever they were talking. His shoulder length blonde hair had been carelessly tied back exposing the delicate features of his face, but there was an intensity in their eyes which sparked when they were frustrated. He would go as far as to say he was beautiful - but that didn’t do him justice.

Enjolras looked over his shoulder to ask what he would like on his toast and he quickly glanced away, scared that he had been caught staring. He stammered something about jam being fine and accepted the plate when it was handed to him. He glanced back at the flag on the table.

“Can I ask you something?” He blurted.

Enjolras looked a little taken aback; after all they had known each other for a grand total of forty minutes. “That depends,” he said. “Can I decline to answer if I chose?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

Enjolras nodded his consent. Grantaire took a deep breath. “I was just wondering...are you trans? I saw the books and the flags and I know it’s none of my business and I really shouldn’t ask, but I was curious.” Great, now he was rambling. He stopped abruptly and waited to see if he had pissed them off.

Enjolras still looked a little on guard but nodded his head. “Yes, I’m trans.”

“OK cool,” Grantaire said, taking a rather large bite of toast then realising his mistake because he couldn’t explain himself. He forced it down with a gulp of coffee, “Erm, I’m trans too. I guess we have that in common.” He felt it was glaringly obvious he was trans. He hadn’t been on hormones long and though the gods had blessed him with facial hair that he appreciated a lot more at 25 than he had at 13 he felt that his voice was a sure give away.

Enjolras, however, took his confession in his stride; perhaps he had people come out to him all the time. He did however seem to drop his guard, the tension leaving his frame. “Thank you for letting me know. I guess we do.”

Neither of them noticed the door being unlocked. It swung open to reveal a large group of people on the landing. They were all happily laughing at something but paused when they saw Enjolras and Grantaire.

They filtered into the flat. One of them stepped forward and pointed at Enjolras accusingly. “You said you wanted an early night, and here I find you in the company of someone else! I’m wounded Enjolras, wounded!” He dropped onto the sofa and draped his arm around Enjolras, who easily shrugged him off.

“How much have you had to drink, Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asked with affection behind his mock disdain.

“Far too much,” said a familiar concerned voice. Grantaire looked back at the group and instantly spotted Joly. He had his arm around Musichetta’s shoulder and Bossuet behind them. He had never met either of them but he recognised them from Facebook.

Their eyes met and Joly looked back with an expression of happy surprise. “R...” he began but Grantaire cut him off.

“It’s Grantaire now, or simply, R.”

“Grantaire,” Joly quickly corrected himself. “What are you doing here?”

“I, er, can I stay with you for a while?” he asked, aware of everyone watching them.

“Of course” he said instantly. “Is everything ok?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I just need a place to stay for a little while.”

***

Grantaire let Bossuet take his bag and followed them across the landing.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me staying here?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time as he watched Joly and Musichetta set up the sofa for him to sleep on. Their flat had the same lay out as Enjolras’s but with three occupants rather than two. He felt like he was imposing.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Joly answered again patently.

“Any friend of Joly’s is welcome here,” Musichetta added.

Later, he sat on the sofa in his pyjamas, relieved to be able to breathe freely but self conscious at being around so many people. He tried not to listen as Joly, Musichetta and Bossuet had a whispered conversation in the kitchen. He knew that they were talking about him. They were probably debating what to do with him. Eventually Joly came back to the sofa while his partners went into one of the bedrooms.

“How long do you think you need to stay?” he asked gently, sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

“I’m not sure,” Grantaire replied, hugging a pillow to his chest.

“Is everything ok back home?” he asked again. “I promise I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Everything’s fine I guess,” he admitted. “I just needed to get away for a bit. Sorry for just showing up out of the blue and springing this,” he gestured at himself, “this whole trans thing on you too. I guess we haven’t really spoken in the last year or so. Thanks for just rolling with it.”

“What else would I have done? And please stop apologising. It’s all fine. Does that have anything to do with why you wanted to get away?”

“A little,” he admitted. “It’s not like I was kicked out or anything. My family’s taking it pretty well. They don’t really get it, but they’re trying. But I guess I wanted to be around people who didn’t know me before, people who don’t have a preconceived notion of who I was before. I remembered you mentioning the group you’re a part of so I guessed you’d understand and so here I am.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you. And I mean it when I say that you can stay as long as you need. Bossuet and Musichetta agree too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a series or connected stories so keep an eye for more in the (hopefully) near future.


End file.
